


Return Ticket to Coventry

by ausmac



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene assumes something about Sam Tyler, and assumptions, as we all know, can make an ass out of all kinds of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return Ticket to Coventry

Things were a bit of a mad house that morning; some berk had his weekend takings snatched on the way to the bank – people just never thought, maybe someone might be after a quid, I shouldn't go to the bank the same time every bloody day! – and in the getaway the robbers had caused a multi-car smashup on Chapel Street, so the whole area was a mess.

Gene stood at the foyer door, holding it open impatiently as his people filed out. Ray and Chris were arguing about something to do with football, Cartwright was searching for her bloody radio and Tyler was last out, as usual, pushing the others from behind like a sheepdog.

There was a small group at the desk, a uniformed constable standing next to a well-dressed fella in his teens. As Tyler moved past the fella turned and smiled.

"Hullo Mr Jones, fancy seeing you here!"

In that moment between observing it and turning for the door, Gene caught a look of surprise on Tyler's face, very quickly changing into a blank stare.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong person, excuse me."

"But…" As Gene turned back, he saw the young man's expression: confusion, and a rapid understanding. "Oh, yes, sorry, my mistake."

And after the morning's work was over, Gene was reminded of it when a report hit his desk of a raid on a brothel suspected of selling drugs. Turned out the young blonde fella was a prossie, one of the male workers who dropped in and out the brothel and also apparently took rooms at a nearby hotel, working the area with his pimp.

Gene stared at the report as he tried to remember Tyler's expression. Surprise it'd been, and then nothing – that blank look you put on when you didn't want anyone to know what you were thinkin'.

Gene Hunt had a cop's instincts; like other people could pick up bad smells, he could pick up strange happenings and put them together to form a picture. And the picture he was getting was Sam Tyler being recognised by a male prostitute, and denying it.

And didn't that just make a person think the obvious. But the obvious was just too bloody ridiculous for words. On a professional level, you wouldn't deny it. On a personal level, you sure as hell would. 

Sam Tyler associating with a male prostitute. On a personal level. 

Either he's doing social work in his spare time, or he's seeing a male hooker for the bleedin' obvious. Shit a proverbial brick…..

What Sam did in his time off, Gene had no idea. He knew a bit about the others; knew Chris had family he spent a lot of time with, knew Ray went to the races and footy with his sister's kids and spent time with his parents on the weekends, knew Cartwight had family and the occasional outing with boyfriends. Tyler was a blank. No family he knew of, and he never mentioned friends outside of work. 

Gene knew he should just put it away, because even if Tyler was as bent as a hatstand it was none of his bleedin' business, as long as it didn't interfere with his work. It wasn't as though he'd propositioned Chris or was bein' bent over a table in the canteen on a Friday night. If he did have queer proclivities, he kept them private and that was that.

But it niggled at him like a loose tooth that you just couldn't leave alone. I just gotta know, he thought, staring at the glass office partition, or I'll fuckin' die of the curiosity.

That Friday night, as they often did, the squad met after last shift for a few drinks at the Railway Arms. Cartwright, it seemed, had a hot date with a bloke from B Division who was taking her to dinner and a film, so she left early, making an unlady-like gesture at the usual catcalls and suggestions. Chris left a little later to head off to dinner with his parents, and Ray followed, heading for home. That left just him and Tyler. His missus had caught the train during the day to visit her sister in Birmingham for the weekend, so Gene was in no particular hurry to go home. He ended up chatting with Tyler about work and the football and the shockin' state of affairs with the Government. Only person he talked politics with was Tyler, who had a pretty good grasp of things. He knew the economy had an effect on their work – people got desperate when they lost their jobs, and often turned to crime to make up the rent. 

Sam seemed fidgety that night, drinking more than he normally did, watching the clock next to Nelson's television. 

"Got a date?" Gene asked finally, holding onto his third of scotch.

"No. Just a bit tired."

He didn't seem that tired to Gene. Sam slouched when he was tired, it showed because he was a normally active bloke, all sharp movements and hyper, like a kid, all jumpy and energetic. What he seemed was anxious to be gone and on a hunch, Gene gave him the out. He emptied the glass and stood. "Yeah, me too, think I'll make an early night of it."

Sam stood as well and pushed his own half-finished glass of beer towards Nelson. "Night then, guv, see you next Monday, have a good weekend. 'bye Nelson."

Gene collected his coat as Tyler headed out the door. He waited a few moments, then followed. Sam was heading down the street away for the direction he'd go for his flat, and Gene followed, keeping far enough behind so his footsteps wouldn't be heard but close enough to keep Sam in sight. When he stopped at a bus stop Gene cursed and doubled back to get his car, and arrived back just in time to see Sam catch a bus heading into town. He drove behind the bus as it made its way through the Friday night traffic, and saw Sam alight at a stop just outside the central shopping district. He drove past, keeping behind a truck, and parked down the block in a side alleyway.

For a few moments he thought he'd lost him, but as Gene emerged from the alley he ducked back as he saw Sam talking to someone across the street. A nearby streetlight gleamed on a blonde hair and he recognised the male prostitute Sam had denied knowing that day in the office. 

One and one had definitely added up to two. 

After a couple of minutes' conversation, the two of them walked down the street and went into a hotel. Not a high class establishment that one, and it seemed to book rooms by the hour in the trade going in and out were anything to go by.

Gene leant against the wall, lit a cigarette, and contemplated the situation.

Sam Tyler was queer. He went with male prostitutes. He was a butt fucker, a fairy, a buggerer, a sodomite. He was a serious potential risk to Gene's division because being what he was, he could be turned through blackmail.

All that meant he should go, because if the others found out it would be the end of morale in his division, the end of the team he'd worked so hard to build. 

But the odd thing was, all he could think of was Sam up in that seedy little room, probably standing there with his trousers down around his ankles having his dick sucked by that blonde prossie and probably following it up by shoving that dick into the blonde's arse. 

And what really, really worried Gene was why that image should make him tight and uncomfortable in his pants. With a snarl, Gene tossed the cigarette down, ground it out, and headed for his car. A perfectly normal Friday night had just gone totally bonkers.

 

The end of another week, and it hadn't been an easy one by anyone's standards. The cases had gone nowhere and frustration had everyone irritable. Especially DCI Hunt, who was being even more unpredictable than normal.

He'd been particularly nasty with Sam; the insults and jibes had reached levels that even had Ray looking surprised. Sam had no idea what in particular he'd done to deserve it, but Gene didn't seem inclined to talk to him, and had avoided him for most of the week. When he wasn't tossing insults his way, or pushing Sam into convenient walls, filing cabinets or sides of handy vehicles.

There was no invitation to drinks that Friday night, so Sam stopped for dinner at a local café and headed off for the Greenwich Hotel at just after eight. Nigel was waiting for him in the foyer to avoid the drizzling rain, and he smiled at sight of Sam coming through the entry.

"Mr Jones! How are you?"

"Well, thanks Nigel. Wish you'd call me Sam."

Nigel shook his head, and raised one finger. "No, you know how it is, I like it on this level. Especially now," he whispered, bending closer, "that I know you're a copper."

Sam smiled and put a finger to his lips. "Shh, let's not spread that around here. So, we ready for tonight's session?"

Nigel turned and bowed towards the stairs. "Ready and willing, Mister Jones, sir."

The clerk at the desk didn't look up from his TV set as they passed him and headed for the stairs. Nigel was a regular at the Greenwich and it was hardly unusual to see him taking men upstairs. Sam followed the teenager up to the second floor, along a corridor and into a room at the end. It was a single room with a just a bed, a desk and a couple of chairs. Sam took off his coat and hung it over the back of one of the chairs, and sat. Nigel opened a canvas bag sitting on the bed and pulled out a set of books, notepaper and pens.

"So," Sam said, as he took one of the pads and a pen, "have you been looking over the course notes? Anything you don't understand?"

Nigel sat, watching Sam with a familiar curious intent, chewing on his pen thoughtfully. 

"Lots of things I don't understand, now more than ever. Like, why you're doing this? Oh, I know what you've said, about how I remind you of a friend you lost and all that, but it's a lot to do for someone you've only known a few months. I mean, I'm what I am and you're what you are. Most people wouldn't understand, and wouldn't care if they did."

Sam reached out and took hold of Nigel's hand. "What you do isn't what you are. You have a fine mind, Nigel, and a good heart. If I can help you, then it works for me on the level of a cop and a man."

Nigel squeezed Sam's hand in response. "You are truly more than a bit barmy, Mister Officer Jones." He looked down at the hand holding his, then up into Sam's eyes. "I know what my fantasy is, but what about yours? Do you ever get to live your, too?"

Sam let go of Nigel's hand and picked up a pen. "I don't think so. My fantasies are pretty bizarre even for someone as barmy as me. Now," Sam said, scrawling briefly on the notebook, "remember that name, down the track. When the time comes, it will make sense."

Nigel turned the pad around and studied it, head to one side. "Robbie Williams? Who's he….?"

Two hours later, and it was time to go home. Nigel went downstairs with Sam and they stepped outside just as rain faded to a sprinkle. The streets were shining under the lights and relatively quiet, with no pedestrians in view. Sam turned to Nigel as he tugged up the collar of his jacket.

"You could go home too, you know."

Nigel shook his head, looking out at the faint curtain of rain. "Can't. Have the rent due tomorrow and I'm short." He ducked his head and looked away. "Have to eat, bills to pay and so on."

Sam pulled a five pound note out of his jacket pocket. "Take this. Try and get some rest. You have the exams next week and you need to study."

Nigel looked down at the note and up into Sam's' face. "I shouldn't, you do enough for me as it is."

"Take it. It's a loan, you can pay me back when you're a rich entrepreneur."

Nigel laughed, took the note and tucked it into his back pocket. He looked around quickly, then put one hand behind Sam's head and pulled him down into a quick kiss. "Wish I was your fantasy, Mister Jones. Hope he materialises for you."

Sam laughed. "What makes you think it's a he?"

Nigel shrugged as he turned back to the foyer. "Mr Jones, you watch my arse far too much for it to be a she…"

Sam waved goodbye, ducked his head further down into the protecting collar and ran across the road. There'd be no buses at that time of night, so he had his usual long walk home, which he tried to think of as good exercise, an ultimately futile thought. On a wet, cold Manchester night, it really wasn't much fun to be slogging through puddles.

As he passed the mouth of a darkened alley across from the hotel, a voice spoke out of the darkness.

"Tyler!"

Sam stopped, surprised, and as he did a hand came out, grabbed him by the arm, and jerked him backwards into the alley. He kicked out instinctively, thinking robbery or vendetta by some crim; his foot impacted something soft, there was a curse and a hand grabbed him by the coat lapel and swung him around and into the wall.

Lights flashed as he head hit the bricks and he almost fell; he was shoved upright against the wall and a voice spoke near his ear.

"You stupid poofter bastard! You gotta slobber all over yer nancy whore in the street!"

Unmistakable voice, despite its tone of guttural fury. "G..gene!"

"D-C-bloody-I Hunt to you, yer pansy!"

Sam tried to turn; his arm was twisted behind his back at a painful angle and he knew with just a few more degrees of strain, it would probably be broken. He stopped fighting the hold, stayed still with his face pressed sideways to the wet brick wall. "Guv, lemme go, I can explain…!"

Gene was pressed hard up against his back. Sam inched his free hand up, trying for leverage, and Gene's other arm slid around his throat. "I just bet you can. I should break yer fuckin' neck!"

Wonderful! Sam thought fuzzily as the pressure increased on his throat and the world started to grey out, I do the right thing and I still end up getting done for it….

 

He would think of the following week as The Week From Hell.

Gene had driven him home to his flat without saying another word, ignoring all attempts at discussion, to leave him standing in the rain on the roadway as he drove off in a curtain of tossed water. Sam had walked inside slowly, head down, thinking well, Monday is something to look forward to... For all that he was a cop and faced threat every day of his working life, the notion of facing Gene and having That Conversation was daunting. Gene had never dealt well with uncomfortable personal situations, and he was already predisposed to think badly of Sam in the circumstances.

The weekend had dragged, and Sam walked into the office that Monday feeling as if he hadn't rested at all. The rest of the team had no idea anything was wrong; Annie complained she'd got none of her clothing dry and would have to spend money at a laundry, while Ray was annoyed at the races being called off. Gene turned up unusually late and went straight to his office, slamming the door in a rather final way.

Sam waited for a lull in the work, for a time when there no-one else with Gene, and finally girded his loins and knocked on the door. There was no response, but he opened it anyhow and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Gene was behind his desk, coat off, shirtsleeves rolled up, reading files. He didn't look up. "What do you want?"

"Good morning to you, too. We need to talk."

"If it's about police business, talk. If it's about anything else, piss off."

Sam put his hands on the desk and leant forward. "We really do need to talk. This can't be left as it is. You need to listen to me."

Gene looked up finally, and the savagery in his eyes almost made Sam back away. "You seem to forget who's the boss here, Tyler. I don't need anything from you, especially you tellin' me what I need to do."

"Oh, for Godssake. If you will just listen I'll explain—"

"Explain! Explain what, DI Tyler? Explain how you were recognised in this very building by a known male prostitute? Explain how I personally saw you meet that same whore at a known homo-bloody-sexual location? Explain how I personally witnessed you hand him money and him kiss you? You must be fuckin' joking!"

He wasn't yelling, his voice was hardly above conversational tone, but it filled with more anger and disgust than Sam had ever heard before. It hurt in so many ways, there wasn't space in his mind for reason.

"So you just assume the worst of me, without ever giving me the benefit of the doubt. That's big of you."

Gene unfolded himself, pushing his fists onto the table. "I've spent years building this squad into a solid bunch of reliable coppers and I won't have a queer destroy it. I want your resignation on my desk by lunchtime."

Sam straightened, matched Gene's stare. "Not bloody likely. You want me out of here, you bring me up before a disciplinary board and have me fired. Only other way you'll get me out of here is on a slab!"

They stood staring at each other in silence as the air bristled around them, and Gene nodded, finally. "Right. Get out and go back to work."

Sam swallowed the hurt and anger and turned without another word. It took an act of utter control not to slam the door behind him.

From there, the week went down the toilet, and it didn't take long for the rest of the squad to pick up on the vibes. Only Annie had the gumption to say anything. After three days she sat in front of Sam's desk, concern making her frown.

"Boss, can I talk to you?"

"Not now, Annie, sort of busy."

"Sam."

He looked up, focusing on her worried features. "Annie, leave it alone."

"But what's happening? I've never seen the Guv like this before, he's going everyone, he even had a blue with Chris, about absolutely nothin'. And you," she said, reaching out to briefly touch his unshaved chin, "you look like death warmed up. He's had you doin' double shifts all week. What's goin' on?"

Sam picked up his fourth cup of coffee for the day and drank it, unconcerned that it was cold. "It's between him and me, Annie." He tried to smile at her worry, warmed by it. "It'll work out, one way or another. Just give it time." 

It was just words, he knew that, and he thought she did, too. If anything, the situation had gotten worse, because Gene was taking it out on his people and that was the worst sign of all. For all his nature, for all that he barked at them from time to time, his people were his life and for Gene to be rounding on them showed how bad things had become.

And Sam was tired, so tired that he could barely think straight. He realised Annie had gone without even remembering her standing, a sign of just how little mental energy he had left. He'd not slept more than a handful of hours since the weekend and the stress was starting to tell. If he could just rest for a moment or two…

*jab* "Tyler!"

Sam straightened abruptly, blinked. The world formed into focus and he saw Gene standing in front of his desk. "Sorry…"

"Head over to B Division, they've gathered their case files on similar robberies in recent times. Take a look at 'em."

Sam looked down at his watch. "My shift finishes in ten minutes."

"Like I give a shit. And I want a report on my desk tomorrow morning. Oh, and another thing," Gene said, as he turned away, "fallin' asleep on your shift is dereliction of duty, goes on your card."

There was nothing he could say or do except to wonder if any words could ever bridge the seemingly uncrossable rift that had grown between them.

It was easier if he didn't try to justify it. If he ignored the tired droop of Sam's shoulders, the shadows under his eyes, he could pretend it wasn't his fault. Justification was proving to be a very iffy thing for Gene Hunt right then, considering his own demons.

And anyhow, it wasn't his fault. He'd never told the mongrel to go with a male prostitute, never told him to be a mattress muncher. Never told him to become so important to me that it hurt just to look at him, and know what I've done.

He glanced at the report on his desk when he arrived the next morning, noting that towards the end Sam's normally neat handwriting had deteriorated to a scrawl. The fact that the report wasn't needed was just another nail in his own coffin; he already had the facts from the B Division DCI via a longish phone call. Yet more evidence that Gene Hunt could be a total bastard when he wanted to be.

He was contemplating a morning cuppa laced with scotch, and possibly arsenic, when the phone rang. It was one of his snitches, with info that the gang were going to be hitting the Liverpool Road Tote that morning. He slammed the phone down, grabbed his coat and headed out the door. Sam wasn't at his desk and he called across to Cartwright.

"Where's Tyler?"

"Getting something in the canteen, Guv. Will I get him?"

"Yes, on the double. The rest of you, drop what you're doing and gather round. We haven't got much time." He looked over at the clock on the wall. There wasn't time to wait for Tyler. "Right, I just good a concrete lead on those robbers. They're going for the Tote in Liverpool Road in thirty minutes. I want you all to book out a pistol and head off. You've got five minutes."

He saw Tyler arrive as he finished his instructions, recognised the scowl. "Guv, we should discuss this. These are bad people, we should really call in some help, more heavily armed officers. We could have civilians…"

"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Pick a nice gun to match your ensemble and get moving."

He saw the disapproving shake of the head and the fact that Tyler just might be right made it worse. He brushed past him, and hissed. "You can stay here if you want, Sammy, if you feel it's too much fer yer delicate disposition." He continued past, pushing Chris in front of him. "Get moving, we've only got twenty minutes!"

It took five minutes for them to get their weaponry and organise transport, and in the meantime Gene phoned the Tote and spoke to the Manager. He had the Manager gather his staff together and send them out the back door in singles and pairs with orders to leave the area in different directions. In a ballsy act the Manager offered to stay behind and man the desk and Gene agreed, telling him to stay calm if the gang turned up early and just give them what they wanted. 

Minutes later they were in the cars and headed off to Liverpool Road at full speed.

There wasn't a lot of traffic on the street when they arrived, and thankfully not too many pedestrians, though still enough to cause Gene some concern. The squad parked the cars at various points and Gene took them into a café for a quick strategy.

"Tyler, you take Chris and George around to the back in case they move that way. I'll stay with the rest out front. Cartwright, you man the car and stick by the radio, in case we need backup. No-one is, under any circumstances, to make a move until I say so. Got it?"

They all nodded. Gene didn't look at Tyler as he took the two officers and walked down the laneway behind the Tote. He sent in one of his men to take the Manager's place and planted himself in the bookshop across the street, radio in hand, to wait.

The last of the staff had just left the laneway when two cars pulled up outside the tote building. Four men climbed out of the old Morris and three more from a red Triumph TR6 that had to be nicked. Four headed for the front door and two towards the lane heading for the back door. Gene swore. "Shit, seven of 'em." He flicked on his radio. "Tyler, two coming your way down the lane. Be warned, five going in the front."

"Seven! Right."

As soon as the five at the front had gone inside, Gene signaled the go. The rest of his team ran across the street and waited on either side of the door. Gene could hear low voices, the sound of a door slamming, coming from inside the building; nothing too alarming yet, but there was no time to waste, he knew'd they'd notice the lack of staff very soon. He ducked down and checked carefully through the bottom of the window. The robbers had his officer with his hands up behind the counter, with automatics and pistols being waved around. He waited until their attention shifted towards the cashbox, then gave the word.

"Alright, move in. Tyler, stay in place, watch for movement out. Let's go!"

They slammed into the Tote office through the front door; the copper behind the counter dropped down as a gun went off over his head. Ray executed a superb rugby tackle on one gunman, taking him down with a hip throw, and Roberts took out another with a shot to the chest. Gene got a third in the leg and the crim went down screaming. Another robber dropped his gun and threw his hands in the air, while the fifth made a dash for the backdoor.

Gene went after him, leaping behind a desk as a shot blasted through a chair back inches from his head. He rolled to his feet and threw himself through the door into a back office. The robber went for the back door, kicked it open and fell through, and Gene followed.

He caught sight of Chris and George handcuffing the two robbers who'd gone down the alley, with Chris sitting on one fella who was making a considerable fuss. As he stumbled down the back step, Gene saw the robber he'd chased outside spin on his heel and bring up his big automatic. Gene sank to his haunches, raised his own pistol, pulled the trigger --

And nothing happened. A jam!

For a time that took up far too many heartbeats he saw the barrel of the gun swing towards him; a shape flew through the air and struck the gunman in the chest. It was a garbage tin lid, thrown like a big Frisbee and Gene saw Tyler next to the building wall, and he wondered briefly, why didn't he shoot? and then the robber was falling backwards, his automatic discharging twice before he fell into a pile of cardboard boxes behind him. 

Gene stood and scrambled across to grab the gun, flipped it over and slammed the butt down on the shooter's head; he fell backwards with a groan, out cold. He looked at his watch; five minutes since he'd sent them in, which was often the way of it. Gene pushed the jammed pistol back in his belt holster, determining to have a few short words with the weapons boss when he got back. "Tyler," he said, turning back, "call in the uniforms and the wagons, get these fellas secured."

Sam was still standing against the wall, hands down by his side, looking at the ground in a sort of distracted way and Gene frowned. "Tyler, did you 'ear me?"

He saw Sam lift one hand and slowly open his leather jacket. The green-and-white striped shirt beneath was discoloured by a spreading patch of red, and his hand began to shake. He looked at Gene, as shock paled his features and he blinked rapidly. "I think --"

And Gene moved, reaching out as Sam's knees buckled beneath him and he fell.

Gene had seen a lot of blood. As a cop of twenty years he'd seen buckets of it, and for the most part you tried not to let it bother you, just drank a bit extra when there was too much of it at once, to get to sleep at night. It was worse, a lot worse, when it was the blood of someone you knew. Someone important to you.

Sitting on the dirty ground in the lane holding Sam against him, he could smell it as well as see it. The coppery, hot odour stuck at the back of his throat, making him feel sick, because that's what it had to be making him feel that way, the blood.

Tyler wasn't limp; he was tense, each indrawn breath was ragged, ending with a gasp of pain, each outgoing breath a groan and when he coughed, little streaks of blood slid down his chin. Gene wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t, because what the hell good would that do.

Cartwright had called for an ambulance already, and had followed it up with a demand for more than one. She'd knelt down next to Gene, watching them both, trying to be the good little policewoman but pale and wide-eyed with worry.

"Guv…not sure how long it will take them. They're caught in traffic."

Gene looked down at his hand where it was pressed to Sam's chest; he'd taken off the leather jacket but not looked at the wound. He didn't need to, it was a through-and-through, with a matching hole in Sam's back. Ruined my coat, he thought absently, never going to get the blood out. His wife had given him that coat, five Christmases past but it was a mess, like so much of his life.

He wanted to pull out one of his flasks and drink it dry, but he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sit there with Sam's blood welling up under his fingers, watching shock set in as Sam's eyes lost focus, as his eyelids dipped lower and lower, eyelashes dark streaks against shadowed, too-pale skin.

Something finally distracted him: the sight of Cartwright pulling off her blouse. He blinked, utterly confused. "Bloody hell, woman, what are you doin'?"

Annie ripped off both sleeves off her blouse, tied them together, then rolled the rest of the shirt into a pad. She knelt down as Ray and Chris stood behind her in a sort of automatic defensive barrier. "Sit him up, Guv. We need to slow the bleeding."

He understood then. "Good girl, quick thinking. And when you're done, you come with me. We'll take him to Emergency in my car, I'm not waiting on a fuckin' ambulance."

He manouvered Sam upright, ignored the sudden shaking, the groan of pain - positive, that, because it showed he was alive enough to feel pain - and held him still while Annie wrapped her makeshift bandage around him. She paused for a moment at signs of the exit wound, glanced up at Gene. "Looks bad, I know, Guv, but it's good too, in a way."

Gene ground his jaws together as Sam's breath wheezed and shuddered. "How's that, then?"

"Bullet came out, not still in there somewhere. If it'd done mortal damage, he'd be dead by now. There's a chance, so …you know." She looked back down, tied a neat reef knot in the bandage, and shifted his hand back on top of the pad. "Keep it pressed down tight. Chris, gimme m'coat, will you?"

While she pulled her coat on to cover herself, Gene pushed himself up, not the easiest thing, holding onto Tyler who, for all his nancy thinness wasn't a lightweight. He moved past where his squad stood watching him carry Tyler towards the street. "Ray, take over the scene, do a quick scene wrap, get the perps into the cells and report to me at the hospital. Cartwright, get the keys from m'pocket and get the car started."

He put Sam into the front passenger seat and Annie sat in back behind him, linking her arms around to keep the pad pressed tight. Gene slid behind the wheel and sent the Ford out into Liverpool Road and heading towards the Northern Hospital. By the time he put the car up onto the footpath outside the entrance to Emergency, Sam was unconscious.

Things went by in a rush then. As soon he walked through into the Emergency Ward carrying Tyler's unconscious, bleeding body, the nurses and doctors were on him. They shifted Sam onto a gurney and wheeled him through into a treatment room, stripping his clothing off, taking pulse and blood pressure and putting an oxygen mask on this face. Gene stood outside the room with Annie, trying to think what to do next.

"Is there anyone we should tell, Guv, about DI Tyler? Any family?"

Gene dug absently into his inner pocket and pulled out a flask. "Not sure, you can check when you get back. Take my car, get yourself cleaned up and get back to the office. Make sure Ray has sent some uniformed lads here to keep an eye on the bastards we damaged when they get here. And…I dunno, let the others know I'll be back in a bit, soon as I know. About Tyler."

Annie hesitated, laid a tentative hand on his arm and, after a last look across at the figure lying on the gurney, turned to leave.

Gene took a deep swig out of the flask and winced as the alcohol hit his empty stomach. A moment later he swung around and practically ran down the hallway for the men's room. Inside, he kicked open a stall door and vomited into the toilet bowl.

When he could stand, he went to the basin, looked down at his hands and realised they were caked with dry blood. His stomach heaved again but he held still, clenched his hands into fists until his breathing steadied and his stomach stopped rolling. Then, he turned on the tap and washed his hands clean.

Fucking useless skuzz you are! Get a grip, for godsake!

After sluicing some water on his face and washing his mouth out - and feeling not one wit better for it - Gene headed back to the Emergency Ward. By the time he got there, Sam was hooked up to various machines, the activity around him more subdued. One of the doctors saw Gene arrive and headed towards him.

"I'm Doctor Roger Markham, Emergency Registrar. You're Detective Tyler's superior officer?"

"That's right. DCI Hunt. How is he?"

"Not too bad, all things considered. He took one bullet to the upper right chest, which was a through shot, so it isn't lodged inside doing anymore damage. However, it did clip his lung on the way through and cause a fair bit of bleeding, internally and externally. The loss of blood has pushed him into a coma, and we won't know the effect until he wakes up. Other than that, we can't be sure of what further damage was done until we go in and take a look. The other shooting cases have just been brought in…"

"Don't give a shit about them right now, but I'll get a report later. How soon will you be cutting Tyler open?"

"As soon as we have him stabilized, which we've just about finished. We need to address the internal bleeding asap."

"Thanks." Gene hesitated. "Look after him, right? He's a bloody pest, but he's my officer and he deserves the best."

"Of course." The Doctor seemed a decent fella and gave Gene a warm smile. "We always do our best for fallen officers here, Detective Chief Inspector. That he's survived so far is a good sign, it shows he's a fighter, and that always helps. It will be a few hours, so if you wish we can report to you at your department."

For some reason, the thought of leaving the hospital was a painful one. "No, I'll hang around a bit. In case he wakes up."

Which he would, Gene told himself, as he headed for the waiting room. Tyler dying on him was not an option he wanted to give any thought to. Come on you stubborn, pig-headed smart-arse, he thought angrily as he slouched into an uncomfortable vinyl armchair, live, so you can come back and I can punch out your lights for makin' me feel so bloody terrible….

The operation went well, according to the surgeon. They'd corrected the internal bleeding, repaired some damage, found nothing immediately fatal. The bullet had indeed nicked Sam's right lung but they'd managed to fix him. He'd been lucky. Very lucky.

But he was still unconscious and that was a worry.

The afternoon dragged by. Sam survived the operation and lay for a couple of hours in Recovery, and still he didn't wake. To Gene, the waiting was like having a big tooth pulled very slowly, without the benefit of painkillers. Shit awful and no way of making it better.

Finally, Gene couldn't stand the sitting, staring at the wall or rereading old magazines any longer, and he headed back to the office. It was something to do, and he did have a job and other responsibilities. Not that more than half of his brain was actually functioning then and there, but he had to at least go through the motions.

He arrived back at the office after lunch, gave the news of Tyler's survival to a relieved squad, put in the necessary reports and went home to bed. He'd spent godawful night of little sleep and plenty of confused dreams when he did, and resisted the urge to call the hospital every hour to check on Sam. He knew they had his number, they would call if there was a problem. It didn't stop him waking half a dozen times through the night, and no amount of scotch made the night pass any easier.

As much as he wanted to be at the hospital first thing, Gene doggedly went into work, to complete the report on the attempted robbery and do the necessary gun statements. He had heated words with the Armourer who reported a faulty box of cartridges that had slipped his normally keen eye. When everything urgent had been handled he headed back to the hospital, arriving just after lunchtime.

Gene was pleased when he found that Sam had been allocated a single bedroom; as an injured police officer, he was entitled to quality care and Gene would have made himself unpopular by demanding it, if it hadn't been the case. 

Should have brung him some fruit Gene thought, as headed down the hallways towards the men's ward. He was contemplating the dubious benefits of fruit to a person in a coma when he rounded a corner at the end of the ward corridor. A slim, blonde young man had just gone into the room that the nurses had told him was Sam's.

How many blonde young men could Sam know? Shock curled into his gut at the hide of it -- What the fucking hell! and he marched down the hallway and in through the door.

The hooker was standing next to the bed, a hand resting on Sam's arm, and in that moment he was so angry he simply couldn't speak.

The young man turned and smiled. "Oh, hullo. I hope it's alright me visiting Sam. I only found out a little while ago he'd been shot. Just had to come in, to see if…." He slowed down, head tilting to one side. "I'm…sorry…is something wrong?" 

It wouldn't be right to kill the bastard in a hospital, Gene thought in a quiet corner of his mind. All that blood and guts everywhere, bound to be trouble. So he took a deep breath and glared.

"Wrong? No, 'course not. Maybe you could give him a blow job while you're here. Might wake him up."

The boy flushed, bit his lip. "Okay. I get it. You're a copper." He sucked in a deep breath, look briefly down at Sam's still features, and shook his head. "Sorry, I'll be going then."

He went to move past Gene, and under normal circumstances it would have ended there, but all the pain and anger and stress of the last day boiled up in Gene's middle like some sort of emotional vomit and he stepped in the boy's path. "If I catch you anywhere near him again, your life won’t be worth livin'. I suggest you move out of town. Spain is nice, I hear."

The boy paused, looked up at him, curious. "Stay away from him? If things were the way you seem to think, you should be telling him to stay away from me. But they aren't the way you think they are, Mister Policeman. Not that you'd believe that, because you're obviously not even half the decent human being that he is. Now, if you'll get out of my way, I'll leave."

Despite the anger and the pain, Gene had spent many years judging people and he sensed the pain under the smart words. "What are you talking about? I know he went with you, I saw 'im!"

The boy laughed briefly. "I wish. No, he didn't, and it wouldn't have cost him a penny if he'd wanted me. He's a strange man, you know, but he's a friend, nothin' more." Turning, the young man looked across at the still figure in the bed. "Says and does odd things. He said I reminded him of someone, but wouldn't say who. At first I thought it was some kind of loony come-on line and I said to him, mister, you don't have to use a line on me, ten quid will get you same result. But he was telling the truth, I did remind him of someone, and he wanted to help me. Not for anything I could do for him, but for what he could do for me." He looked down at the floor, then up into Gene's eyes. "You probably won't do it, but I'd appreciate it if you'd tell him when he wakes up that Nigel came to see him, and that I passed my entry exams." He grinned, looking very young. "Tell him I aced the maths, he'll be right surprised." He passed Gene and stopped again at the door, looking back at the older man over his shoulder. "He said he had a bizarre fantasy. Whatever it is, I hope he gets it one day."

Then he was gone and Gene stared at the grey marked wall, wanting to believe it was bullshit, but knowing with absolute certainty that it wasn't. He turned back, saw Sam's eyes flicker open and, with a sharp curse, swung around and left.

It was like surfacing through mud. It took time to go from the first faint awareness of being conscious to actually knowing he was awake. Thinking was an effort. Breathing hurt, and the first sound he made was a dry, rattling groan of pain.

Sam opened his eyes. They were gummy, stiff and as uncomfortable as the rest of him. 

His first thought was: what year is it?

He blinked once, twice, and the grey swirl focused and formed. A voice spoke, one he didn't know.

"Welcome back, I'm Doctor Lewis. Just nod if you can understand me."

He nodded, swallowed, tried to cough and that really hurt.

"Yes, I know it hurts, but I need you to focus on me."

He tried to focus, saw an older face, short, dark hair, glasses, a white coat. "Good. Can you tell me your name?"

"Sam. Tyler."

"Excellent. And what year is it?"

Well, that was the question. He said the year he wanted it to be. "Seventy four?"

“Good. Do you remember what happened to you?"

He thought about it. Alley. Robbers. Guns. Shot. 

"Yes, you were shot in the chest. Luckily the bullet didn't hit anything vital, though your right lung was nipped when the bullet passed through. That will hurt for a while. Thirsty?"

He nodded again; the Doctor moved from his direct line of sight and returned a few seconds later carrying a cup with a straw. He put the straw to Sam's lips. "Just a small sip, Sam. We need to try and stop you from coughing too much."

Sam obediently took a single sip, felt the pleasure of it easing down his dry, sore throat. It was taken away and he swallowed again, and his throat felt a little better. 

"You can have more later. You're on a drip which will keep you hydrated, but the tube we had down there does tend to annoy the throat. Try and keep your breathing shallow and if you feel breathless, buzz the nurses and we'll put you in a mask. Now, are you up to a visitor?"

He was very tired, but he nodded, thinking Gene?, but it wasn't Gene.

Nigel appeared above him, grinning, bearing a bunch of flowers. "Hullo, Sam. You look bloody awful."

"Ta." 

"Doctor said I can't stay long, but I just wanted to see how you were, tell you how glad I was you didn't get yourself killed." He bent forward and gave Sam a quick kiss on the cheek and drew back, grinning. "You can hit me for that later. Oh, and I passed my exams!"

Sam smiled, blinking as weariness swept over him. "Good. Keep going."

"I will. Oh, and I met your Mr Hunt…"

And before he could get a grip on the idea of Nigel meeting Gene, Sam had slipped away to a darkness closer to sleep than coma, where he had bizarre dreams of Gene in a tutu dancing while Sam and Nigel played on rubbish bin lids and mouth organs to the tune of “Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Somehow it all made sense.

It took ten days to recover to the point where he could leave the hospital, although the doctors insisted he wouldn't be fit to report for work for at least another one to two weeks, and then only for light duty for another month. During that time he didn't see Gene once. The others visited fairly frequently, even Ray -- it appeared that saving his Guv's life put Sam up a few notches on Ray's “Sam Appreciation Meter.” Sam eventually asked Annie about Gene's non-appearance, when she visited him five days after the shooting.

Annie shrugged as she bent to straighten Sam's pillow. "Dunno, Sam. He's been acting strange all this week, distracted, really bad tempered. I mean, more than normal, of course. Thought Chris was gonna cry the other day, the way the Guv went at him." She sat beside the bed and shook her head and Sam thought she looked tired. "It's odd, not very nice really, if he hasn't been to see you. You saved his life after all."

Sam gave a shrug and a smile and moved on to other topics, but he couldn't ignore the small, illogical twinge of pain that Gene hadn't come to see him, that he didn't seen concerned about Sam in any way. It shouldn't matter, but it did.

The time arrived to leave hospital, and the idea of spending days locked up in his flat recovering, trying to cope with the stairs by him self, was daunting. He was mulling over options when Nigel turned up with a friend, Barry, with the offer of a place to stay. 

"Now, I won't take no for an answer, Sam," Nigel said, as he helped Barry pack Sam's small hospital case. "Barry and I have taken a place together, sharing the rent, and you can sleep in my room till you're better. We'll take care of you, don't you worry."

He was too tired and sore to argue. "Thanks Nigel, I owe you one. Oh, by the way," Sam said, remembered something, "how did you know my name - the real one?"

"You mean Tyler instead of Jones?" Nigel collected Sam's coat from the cupboard. "Found that out weeks ago, after I saw you at the police station. I was very careful, of course."

Sam grinned as he slid into his coat. "You'd make a good detective."

Sam signed out of the hospital and they took a taxi to Nigel's place. After the trip and the climb up the stairs, he was ready for a cup of tea and yet another lie down. Nigel's bed was comfortable and though at any other time Sam might have found something to worry about with his situation, right then he was too tired to do more than slip into sleep.

The week passed slowly, as Sam recovered and relaxed. Barry and Nigel were good hosts, letting him rest quietly when he needed to, making sure he was clean and well fed, that he took his medications and didn't try to overdo things. And when he needed to talk to someone, Nigel was there with tea and coffee and far too much understanding for someone so young.

One night, towards the end of the week, Nigel sat with Sam in the living room after dinner. Barry was out at work and the television was turned down with the sports on. They were discussing football and cricket and all sorts of things when Nigel looked past Sam at the wall and frowned.

"You know, you haven't talked about the one thing you probably should: Gene Hunt."

Sam's head jerked up. "What?"

"Oh come on, Sam. You call out his name in your sleep, and he's so jealous I thought he'd kill me when we met in the hospital . He's your fantasy, isn't he, that one you told me about?"

Sam clenched his hands together, angry and defensive. "You know, Nigel, that's really none of your business."

"I'm not prying Sam," Nigel said, hunching forward, "you know me, I've very big on privacy. But I see two people hurting themselves, each other, and it doesn't have to be that way. Especially when one of them is someone I care about."

"You have absolutely no idea. Even if it were true, even if I wanted Gene in some mad corner of my brain, it's just that, a fantasy. He'd no more be with me in that way than he'd…" Sam snorted, remembering, "..wear a tutu and dance. Beside," Sam finished, wrapping his hands behind his head, "he obviously doesn't give a shit. He wasn't there when I woke up and he's made no effort to see me since." He looked down, aware of the pain he'd tried to ignore, and couldn't. "So much for “his people” and all that bonding crap."

"Bullshit. Utter bullshit."

Sam frowned. "Thanks."

"No, it is. For a smart man, you're being dumb. Gorgeous, but dumb. Didn't you hear what I said? Don't you think I can tell the difference between bigotry and jealousy?" Nigel laughed, and stood, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "Oh, I'm not saying he isn't a bigot, and I'm buggered if I understand what you see in him, but that's not the point. All I know is, when he saw me there next to your unconscious self, he didn't sneer at me, or spit on me or pick me up and bounce me into a wall. He acted like a hurt, angry man. He told me to leave you alone. He was talking to someone who he thought was touching you, being with you, and it drove him crazy. I could see it in his eyes." Nigel offered the glass to Sam, and Sam took it, nursing it in his hands. "Sam, why do you think he hasn't been to see you?"

Sam sipped the scotch, shrugged. "Can't stand the sight of me, I guess."

"Bullshit again. Be honest here. You know him better than me. What's he thinking now?"

Sam considered it, considered Gene. "I've no idea what he's thinkin' or what he's feelin', beyond the obvious. I don't have some crystal ball tuned into Gene Hunt's psyche. I wish I did, it'd make my life a lot easier."

"Well, I know him less than you, but I know his type. Proud, pig-headed, bigoted, and all that messed up lately, because of you. You might have to be the one who reaches out, Sam. He probably doesn't know how to."

Sam smiled at Nigel's intent stare. "How come you're so wise, grasshopper?"

"Some practical knowledge and one too many episodes of 'Emmerdale Farm'. Now, drink your scotch, go take a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow is another day."

"Yes mum." Sam smiled.

The next day was indeed another one, the first day back to work. Sam got a hug from Barry, a hug and a kiss from Nigel, and he thanked them both for their kindness before heading off to CID. It felt a bit like his first day in nineteen seventy three, a dream within a dream, doubt and uncertainty giving the day a sense of unreality.  
~@~@~@~@~

 

The eggs on toast he'd had for breakfast sat in Gene's stomach like a rock surrounded by a sea of tea and acid reflux. And no amount of antacid was going to make him feel any better, not when he heard the outer door open and the muffled voices of his people welcoming Tyler back.

Dread was too nancy a word for it. There really wasn't a word for how he'd been feeling. Bad? Yes, definitely bad. Many colours of bad, ranging from fury all the way through worry and guilt to something a lot like despair. If he'd ever admit to having such a poncey feeling. Girls despaired. Men just got over it.

Trouble was, there didn't appear to be any getting over it happening any time soon.

Procedure was for a returning officer to report to his DCI, and Gene knew if there was one bloke out there who'd follow procedure, it was Sam Tyler. So the door opening – without the benefit of a knock, he noticed – wasn’t unexpected. Just…yes, dreaded. There was that word again.

He finally looked up from the newspaper he'd gone over three times without reading a word to see Sam leaning against the door jam. He looked pale, thinner than ever, and when he finally moved into the room all that typical Tyler glide was turned to an old man shuffle. And Gene couldn't stop watching because that was one thing he could do without any worries, he could look for free, taking in the image of Sam moment by moment. It was as if he'd just started breathing again.

"Mind if I sit down?" Sam asked and sat, without bothering to wait for a response. "I'm back."

"That I can see." Gene leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "You fit?"

"Light duties, the doctors said." The voice was soft, even, nothing there to tell what he was thinking.

"And that means what? Carry the tea tray? Answer the phones? Wipe my arse?"

He didn't know why he said it, saw something flash through Sam's eyes that could have been hurt. I'm good at that, good at hurting him.

"I guess it means that and possibly not carrying too many pieces of furniture around for a bit." He straightened, took a deep breath. "But I'm fine, I can manage."

"That you will. Anyone in my department does their share. If you're here, you're here to work. So get back to it."

Sam stood again, slowly, seemed about to say something, then kept going, turning towards the door.

Lots of things hung in the air unsaid as he left. Glad you're back, thanks for saving m'life, I'm a bastard, forgive me… Gene swallowed them down because there didn't seem to be a way to say them that would make anything better.

They got a call in an hour later - three kids found battered in an alley off Longman Road, with the ambulances on the way and robbery involved. He called his people together and they headed out, Tyler and Chris with him in his car. Sam sat hunched in the front seat, not saying a word as Gene threw the car out into the early pre-lunchtime traffic.

A crowd had already gathered by the time they got there, and Gene put Chris and Ray on to moving the audience along. Two of the kids were conscious, a third was out to it and they were all obviously the victim of some nasty beatings. Gene cast his eyes around the crowd and caught sight of a familiar face. He pointed towards it. "Oye, lousy Lou, a word in your shell-like!"

The bloke jumped, turned and pushed through the crowd, heading away at a run. Gene followed with Sam behind him, as the little ferret made a dash for the front door of a nearby grocers. Gene signaled Sam to the side to catch Lou as he headed for the back door while Gene went through the front. He was halfway through the canned good aisle when he heard a crash and a shout from the back of the shop. Heart pumping, Gene ran for the back of the shop, past the astonished Indian shopkeeper. The backdoor was slammed open, Lou was nowhere in sight and Sam was sitting on the ground in the back alley with his back to the wall.

"What the fuck happened!"

Sam climbed to his feet, clutching his side. "Sorry, Guv, he came out and dived at me, I.."

Fright curled through Gene, refining down to anger. He grabbed Sam and pushed him back against the wall. "You're not up to this, Tyler, you shouldn't be here!"

Sam gasped, coughed, and Gene watched in fascination as a small spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. Sam shuddered and tried to push Gene's hand a way, then coughed again. "Yeah, guess you're right." He turned and walked back down the lane, one hand fending off the wall, the other held to his chest.

It was possibly the worst moment of Gene Hunt's life.

At least it was until he got back to his office and found Sam's request for transfer on his desk.

Gene sat at his desk with the piece of paper in his hand and he didn't know whether to be furious or miserable. After a few swigs from his flask and a bit of feeling sorry for himself, he decided that feeling shitty wasn't getting him anywhere, and fury seemed a lot more satisfying. He stood, folded the mongrel piece of paper carefully, grabbed his coat, stuffed the transfer into a pocket and headed out of the office.

Possibly to shove the offending piece of paper down Tyler's gullet.

He fought to stay angry all the while he drove to Sam's flat, and it was pretty easy to do. Run away from me, will you, you little bastard, he thought, as he almost did himself in going up the stairs. We'll see about that! He kicked the door open, then stopped.

No-one there. No sign that Tyler had even been there. Frustrated, Gene turned to the phone in the hallway and dialed the station.

"Phyllis, did you get contact details for Tyler when he was let out of hospital?"

Phyllis searched her paperwork and provided him with an unfamiliar address, and Gene headed back down to the car and drove at speed to the supplied address. As he stepped up to the door it was opened by the blonde kid he'd seen at the hospital.

They stared at each other for a frozen moment and Gene's anger went up a few notches.

"Sam's upstairs," the kid said, backing up slightly, "and if you have to hit me, could you do it to the stomach. It won't show there."

"I'm not gonna hit you," Gene ground out as he started to turn. "I'd probably bloody kill you."

"Wait! Mr. Hunt -- Shit, don't – oh, jeez, go an' see him, fer chrissakes!"

Gene turned back, eyes narrowed to a glare. "Like I need a little sweetheart like you tellin' me what to do!"

The boy sighed and edged past him onto the street. "Just imagine you didn't see me. Whatever you wanted to say to him, just go say it. I have never seen two people more in need of a good talking to, among other things. Just don't wreck the place, all right?"

The kid left in a hurry, leaving Gene standing there looking at the stairs. He sucked in a breath and took the first step. Then the next, because Gene Hunt, for all his obvious mental problems, had never been a coward.

At the top of the stairs he paused and looked about. There was a comfortable living room with some couches, chairs, a television and sound system, with a kitchen on the far side. As he stood, Sam walked into the living room and stopped dead at the sight of him.

"What are you doing —"

He'd been going to do the smart thing, talk to the idiot, get him to change his mind because, everything else aside he was a good copper and valuable to the Division. But there he stood -- bare-footed, trousers loose on his hips with the fly undone, just naked skin from there up, the ugly scar of the injury marring the pale skin, with a towel hanging over his shoulders and his short hair wet and curling around his face – and Gene lost it as his common sense moved south below his belt.

He pulled the transfer from his pocket, screwed it up and held it out in his closed fist. "You can take that back, for starters!" 

Sam didn't move, just stood watching Gene with a sort of weary patience. "Or what? You'll knock me into a wall until I do? Why are you here, Gene? Why now, when you couldn't be before?"

"I never…" Gene stopped, not able to think of what to say, only knowing what he wanted. "Christ, Tyler, I'm not big on apologies."

"That I can tell." Sam took the towel from around his shoulders and dropped it back behind him. "So how about you practice on me, begin with an 'I'm sorry for not coming to see you at the hospital, Sam, when you got yourself shot for me and all'. Good place to start, don't you think?" He took a step forward, and those eyes focused on Gene like a spotlight. "Well?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again, because he couldn't think of what to say, and he felt a fool even trying. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't be here." 

And that would be the moment in the play to turn and storm out, leaving Sam standing there alone, and for the life of him, Gene couldn't do it, wouldn't do it, whatever it cost him in pride and future and pain. He stood frozen in place as Sam came so close he could smell him, all warm skin and soap, so close that Gene's hands ached to move and take and hold and never let go.

Sam raised one hand and took Gene's hand, unfolding the fingers and taking the ball of paper. He looked down at it and up at Gene and those dark eyes were fixed on him, waiting as he stood there with the future in his hand.

Before his brain could kick in with any more excuses, Gene stepped forward across the small space between them. "Take it back," he said, voice hoarse as he pushed Sam backwards to the wall and held him there, seeing the wince, the eyes widening, the mouth opening to say who the fuck knew what and Gene did the very least thing he could, the smallest of all the crazy things he wanted to – he pushed forward against the slim body, bent his head and took Sam's mouth in a clumsy, hungry kiss.

There, that should just about do it, he thought in a tiny part of his brain not overloading on the feel of Sam's mouth against his. He ground himself into Tyler's body, thinking that if this was the only time he'd get to do this, to show Tyler how he affected him, how he made him hard and hungry, how he made him act so bloody stupid, then fuck take it, he'd have that time.

He'd been prepared for a fight, for a fist to the kidneys or a knee to the groin and he'd have backed off then because whatever else he was – including insane – he wasn't a rapist and he wouldn't force himself on anyone. 

Hands grabbed his head around the ears and he cursed in pain as his head was jerked backwards. Gene focused on Sam's flushed features, wincing.

"I need them ears, Tyler, leave 'em attached, will you."

"You bastard!"

Gene winced again, went to pull back but Sam was still holding onto his ears. He glared, not wanting to let Sam go because his skin was warm and damp and felt so good against his palms. "Right, that's me, the bastard. But I'm still not taking the transfer."

"Fuck the transfer." And then his poor, abused ears were being snatched forward, along with the rest of his head, as Tyler pulled his head down and they were kissing again. Which was absolutely amazing and put damaged ears and transfers in a whole new area of unimportant.

His ears were finally let go as arms curved around the back of his neck. Gene bent, grabbed Sam's arse and lifted him, feeling intense satisfaction as two legs slid around him. They were pressed groin to groin, Sam's back to the wall and Gene thrust forward, pushing his aroused self into Sam. Even without a wealth of experience in such matters, he recognised Sam's arousal and it gave him the confidence to keep going.

Gene twisted and swiveled, grinding his hardon against Sam as the kiss deepened, as Sam moaned and swore against his mouth.

"I know, I know," he groaned as he continued to hump, "I'm a fuckin' arsehole, an ungrateful bastard, a stupid git. Anything I missed?"

"Yeah," Sam said, voice breaking, "you're an insensitive bugger who's doing my back in. Can we move it somewhere easier on my poor damaged body?"

"Fairy," Gene muttered as he staggered backwards. "Little gunshot wound and you go all girly." He felt the couch hit the back of his knees, moved sideways and fell backwards onto it, with Sam landing on top of him.

For a whip-thin fella, Sam was still a solid weight and the impact knocked the breath out of Gene as they fell together on the couch, scattering tea cups and newspapers and various other items from the couch and the nearby coffee table. But he held on, one hand cupping Sam's arse, the other sliding up his back to stroke through the damp hair on the back of Sam's head.

It was a bit hard to breathe but in that moment he'd have sucked in air through a straw to stay where he was. Gene watched the face above him and said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm not queer, you know."

Tyler had the lack of grace to laugh. "Now you tell me. Still, probably a good thing. Don't think I could cope with the idea of a queer Gene Hunt. We'll just pretend we're both straight except with each other. Work for you?"

Gene slid his hand under the edge of Sam's pants, down around his hips and beneath his underpants. He watched the eyes watching him widen as he found Sam's cock. "Yeah, that works for me. How does this work for you," he said calmly as he squeezed the already hard prick.

"Gu…um. Ah." Sam wriggled, raising his hips. "Oh yes, that…seems…to be working well. Know...what you're doing...do you?"

"Sure. Well, no, but I'm guessin' you'll tell me if I get it wrong."

"I'll just...ask Nigel."

Gene froze, glared up into Sam's flushed face. "Do not mention that little..."

Sam's head dipped, his mouth covered Gene's, swallowing whatever he'd been about to say. He had this strange feeling that control of the situation was slipping away from him; one touch of that mouth and his brain disconnected. It didn't bode well for the future.

Gene pulled his hand out, mollified by the whiny sound of disappointment from Tyler. It felt oddly comfortable lying there on the lumpy couch with Sam Tyler stretched out on top of him. His life had certainly turned very strange.

"So, I guess we should talk then."

Sam sighed, slid off and Gene pushed himself upright, taking off his coat and tossing it behind the couch. It had been nice having Sam so close, and Gene rested his arm across the top of the couch, pleased when Sam sat right next to him, hips touching. "I guess we should. You know, that Transfer was a serious request."

Gene stiffened as the words made his gut clench. "So, you want to leave then?"

"Well, before you walked up the stairs and kissed me, I sort of figured you didn't want me around any more. 'specially after that thing in the alley."

"What thing in the alley?"

"You told me I shouldn't be there…"

Gene sighed, resting one hand against the side of Sam's head. "Oh, that thing. Bugger it, Tyler. You know me, more mouth than brains. I meant you shouldn't be there because you were still damaged." His fingers stroked through the fine hair around Sam's ear. "I was just…I saw the blood and it made me crazy. I felt like a total shite for putting you through that."

Sam turned towards him, sliding his legs across Gene's thighs. His expression was intent, that particular Tyler look he had when he was thinking serious thoughts. "So there was I, trying to prove how much the macho man I was, and it rebounded on me. Classic case of reactive mutual misinterpretation."

"Don't make me slap yer, Tyler."

"Sorry." He smiled then, that rare, wide smile that lit his face up, that took away Serious Sammy and made him look years younger. Gene found himself smiling in response, and before he knew it he was kissing Sam again, because that felt safe and fine and he loved the feel of it, of having Sam in his arms, kissing him back. "How long?," he whispered, knowing he probably wasn’t making any sense, but Tyler seemed to understand.

"Months. You?"

"Practically first time I saw you. Figured you'd be the ruin of me, one way or another."

Neither of them seemed to be all that familiar with the way of it, but Gene fumbled along, taking off bits of clothing until he was standing there in the middle of some stranger's living room wearing nothing but his socks and an impressive arousal. Somehow Sam seem to still have clothing on, which didn't seem fair, but as he moved around Gene, touching him, stroking his chest and back, running his hands over Gene's body as if he were some kind of statue, Gene didn't want to do anything but stand there and let him do it.

Sam moved around him, silent and intent, his hands exploring. He touched lightly on Gene's shoulder, slid down to rub his fingers through rough gingery hair, seeming to like it as he bent forward to press his face to Gene's chest. Fingers stroked across his nipples and he twitched as they paused to pinch before sliding down over his chest and stomach to finally touch and hold him. Sam's expression was sedate, altogether too…ordinary…for someone holding Gene's Hunt's prick and balls in his hands. 

It was a lewd and depraved idea but the one thing Gene wanted in that moment was for Sam to drop down on his knees and suck him. And he proved what an amazing fella he was by doing just that.

He was new to it, Gene could tell that, but that didn't matter a bit. Gene could look down at Sam, touch his head, feel the soft mouth working on him, lips and tongue, the occasional edge of teeth, and it was just about perfect. He felt the growth of a really explosive climax as his body trembled and pleasure swept up through his groin to his brain and down again to his toes.

When it happened it was shattering; he nearly fell as he shuddered and cried out, back arched, hands gripping Sam's head fiercely. He was totally helpless in that moment, barely about to think as Sam took him to another room, pushed him backwards onto a bed and lay beside him to wait as his brain finally reconnected with his body. When it did, he found Sam lying there beside him, curled against him, head resting on his shoulder. And still wearing pants, which Gene would have to do something about at some stage.

Someone closed the door and turned off the light, and he was in bed, naked, with Sam Tyler wrapped around him as if it was a perfectly logical thing to be doing on that peculiar Manchester night. Which, of course, it was…

 

Sam woke up in the dark. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was supposed to be, and his heart raced, because if it had all been a dream…

Then heard a snuffling snore, felt a big warm body stir next to him in the night. His heartbeat slowed and he took a deep, satisfied breath.

He was where he was supposed to be, and everything was just fine. Sam went back to sleep without any worry about dreaming, because the dream and the reality were the same, and that was fine, too.


End file.
